


Seeing Red

by sarcasmandships



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Banshee Powers, Canon Compliant, Child Abuse, Curses, Death Eaters, Disordered Eating, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, George Weasley/Slytherin, Good Slytherins, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Harry Potter Books 1-7, Hogwarts, M/M, Molly Weasley Bashing, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pre-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Slow Burn, Slytherin OC - Freeform, Slytherin Original Female Character, Slytherin Pride, Warnings May Change, Weasley Family Bashing (Harry Potter), black!Hermione, weasley family chaos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasmandships/pseuds/sarcasmandships
Summary: two house(hold)s both alike in dignityin fair hogwarts where we lay our scenefrom ancient grudge break to new mutinywhere civil blood makes civil hands uncleanOphelia Beauregard hated George Weasley before she ever laid eyes on him. He was a Weasley, a bloodtraitor and therefore, a disgrace to the name of wizard. At least that's what her mother said. When she finally did lay eyes on him, she saw that her mother had been right. He was a scruffy, unkempt mess with an obscene amount of curly, red hair; and from that day forward he did nothing but make her life hell. Wherever George Weasley and his ridiculous hair went, trouble was not far behind. Ophelia learnt that red meant danger, and once she started seeing red she couldn't unsee it.
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/Fred Weasley, Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. clocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings:  
> emotional abuse  
> physical abuse  
> abusive parents/family

~am i part of the cure, or am i part of the disease~

1989

“Ophelia! Hurry up, there’s something for you in the post,” Lyra Beauregard called up to her youngest child on a clear July morning.

She was a tall, thin woman with pale skin and silky black hair which was swept back into a tight chignon bun. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and piercing green eyes, but her face was so often twisted into an expression of annoyance it was hard to identify her beauty.

Upstairs, there was a gasp, followed by what sounded like a stampede of elephants making their way across the second-floor hallway.

But turned out to only be the very excited Ophelia Beauregard bounding down the stairs, two steps at a time before coming to a sudden halt at her mother’s stiff frame.

“What have I told you about running in the house?” she snapped.

“But you told me to hurry up….”

"Do not talk back to me! Insolent child!” she said, delivering a loud slap across Ophelia’s cheek.

“But mother I wasn’t,” she cried, “only you said you had something for me and I didn’t want to make you wait,” Ophelia mumbled, looking down at her feet as she felt her eyes begin to prick.

“Yes. There is something for you to open at breakfast, but before you join us you will go back upstairs and make yourself presentable,” Lyra Beauregard looked her daughter up and down, her quick eyes riffling over Ophelia’s crinkled pyjamas, fluffy slippers and messily braided hair, “are the clothes your father and I provide for you no longer good enough? Do you feel you are above showing some respect for your family? Get back up there fix that hair and get dressed! And I do not want to hear a single a sound whilst you do it, understood?”

Ophelia nodded furiously.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, mother.”

Ophelia turned on her heel and slowly made her way back up two flights of stairs and into her bedroom, only after gently closing the door did, she allow a trapped sob to emerge from her chest.

She hastily wiped away her tears but her small frame continued to shake as she struggled to take a steady breath, “three, two, one…” she counted down softly and then composed herself.

She splashed her face with cold water and re-braided her dark hair into two neat boxer plaits, she was thankful that the Sleekeazy’s hair potion her mother had dragged through her curls was still working, making her hair manageable for once. She selected an outfit her mother would hopefully deem acceptable – a knee-length green dress with black tights and a pair of shiny black mary-janes. Finally, she clasped the fine gold necklace, that she had received for her birthday just three days before, around her neck and quietly ventured downstairs.

When she entered the silent dining room her parents and older siblings were already seated around the grand dark oak table, as usual with large gaps between them. Ophelia sat down on one of the empty chairs closest to Leo, the second youngest Beauregard child and the sibling that Ophelia got on best with. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the green velvet cushion she sat on was stiff as a board.

“Sit properly Ophelia” snapped Claudius Beauregard, who sat at the top of the table. He sat directly in front of the large French windows which led into the garden and was only a silhouette against the bright, morning sun which shone through the glass panels. Her father was a tall, broad man with deep brown skin and dark eyes. His coily black hair was braided into rows of tight, neat cornrows.

“Sorry father,” she said, she pressed herself straight up against the back of the chair, the intricate pattern carved out of the wood pressed against her spine. She stared above his head as she spoke, looking out of the ornate windows behind him, reaching almost to the ceiling they displayed a wide view of the lush green garden where Ophelia longed to be.

He nodded, and removed his furious stare from her, turning to his wife, “Lyra, please give the children their letters.”

Lyra complied, passing a thick envelope to Leo, then Ariel and finally to Ophelia.

She waited quietly whilst her siblings opened their letters, “I’ve been made a prefect,” Leo commented.

“Congratulations son,” Claudius spoke quietly.

“Well done Leo,” said Lyra, “that’s everyone in the family. So far.”

Ophelia looked down as she felt her mothers stare on her, “well done,” she mumbled to her brother whilst Ariel was busy discussing her booklist with their parents.

“Thanks, Lia,” he grinned.

“Aren’t you going to open that?” asked Archer, Ophelia’s least favourite sibling, from across the table.

Ophelia wrapped one of her braids around her fingers and tugged on it anxiously as Archer spoke to her. It was a nervous habit she was trying to get rid of; but she couldn't seem to stop herself as she felt his unwavering stare on her. The sharp twinge of pain against her scalp cut through the waves of dizziness that were overwhelming her.

Archer and Lynx were the oldest of the Beauregard children and had already left Hogwarts, with only a year between them they worked together in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. Until now, they had both been rather uninterested in talk of Hogwarts and instead had discussed Ministry business in hushed tones with their father, who also worked there. Ophelia was told not to ask questions.

“Go on Ophelia, let us see if you did get accepted or if Professor Dumbledore is writing to tell you to stay away,” smirked Ariel, who was Ophelia’s only sister and came in closely behind Archer as her second least favourite sibling.

Ophelia gently opened the thick envelope and pulled the letter out, “’ Dear Miss Beauregard,’” she read aloud, “’ we are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and-‘”

“Yes, yes we’ve all had the letter, we all know what it says,” snapped Ariel.

“Congratulations Ophelia,” said her father, “you will remember to uphold the family name when you arrive, yes?”

“Of course, father,” she replied quickly.

“Yes father, we’ll keep an eye on her won’t we Leo,” Ariel added eagerly, glaring at her brother till he gave an absentminded nod, “you _will_ be in Slytherin after all, it won’t be too hard to keep track of you,” Ariel said turning her head to give Ophelia a threatening glare.

Ariel was beautiful just like their mother. She had the same dainty heart-shaped face, button nose, angular cheekbones, and arched eyebrows which were currently raised high as she looked at her sister expectantly. Ophelia was small and scrawny and jealous of her sister in every way, knowing this Ariel was smug; the only thing she coveted that Ophelia had was her emerald green eyes.

The eyes of their mother.

“Yes. I will be,” Ophelia said, returning her sisters stare as she gently touched the pendant on the necklace she wore, a solid gold snake.

***

“Fred! George! Wake up!”

“Whatimesit?” mumbled Fred, pulling his duvet over his head.

Percy tutted, “It’s time for you two to be up, dressed and ready for breakfast.”

George groaned, peeking out from under his blanket, “go away Perce, it’s still dark outside,” his curly red hair stuck out in several different directions and he could barely bring himself to open his heavy eyes.

“No it is not, you two just haven’t bothered to open your curtains,” Percy strode across the room, tutting at the toys and clothes that cluttered the floor and swept open the curtains, a flood of warm sunlight burst through the window, it highlighted the specks of dust suspended in the air.

George squeezed his eyes shut and dove back under his duvet.

“What’d you do that for?” he grumbled, under the blanket, he tried to snuggle back down into his mattress. With the soft duvet pulled over his head he was engulfed in a warm, (and most importantly) dark cocoon; he wasn’t getting out of bed for _anything._

“Fine,” Percy snapped, “you two enjoy your lie in and I’ll go and tell mum that you don’t want your letters.”

The twins shot up, “what letters?” they asked in unison.

“ _Well_ ,” Percy began, and the twins shared a look, “maybe if you could get yourselves out of bed at a reasonable hour you would be downstairs for the post arriving and you would already know,” he lectured as he strode back across the room to the door.

He stumbled over a toy broomstick but quickly composed himself as the twins giggled, “hurry up!” he snapped.

He spun dramatically spun on his heel, slamming the door behind him he stomped into the hall.

Fred and George shared a grin, they were both wide awake now.

George rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes as he threw the duvet, he had been hiding under just seconds ago, onto the floor.

“You reckon its-” Fred began; his brown eyes were twinkling mischievously.

“-our Hogwarts letters?”

They leapt out of bed and scrambled into the hallway; Fred bounded down the stairs with George hot on his heels.

He pushed a smug Percy out of the way, he huffed indigently as he stood up but was pushed down again as George raced past him, “Mum! Dad! Fred and George pushed me,” he bellowed.

“What’s that’s dear?” Mrs Weasley called from the kitchen.

But Percy’s response was overshadowed by Fred and George bursting into the kitchen, managing to grind to a halt before they crashed into the table already crammed with red-haired children.

“Percy said you-”

“-had something for us!”

“Is it our letters?”

“Must be don’t you think George-”

“Yeah, I reckon that’s why Percy was in such a mood-”

“He was hoping we wouldn’t get in!”

“Boys, boys, calm down or there will be no letters for anybody, sit down and have some breakfast,” Mr Weasley said, he suppressed a smile as he watched the excited twins with their messy hair and matching, threadbare, pyjamas jump up and down.

Fred and George grinned at each other before squeezing in at the table in between Charlie and Ron. Percy sulked into the kitchen, brushing dust off his knitted jumper, and readjusting his horn-rimmed glasses.

“Looking awful scruffy today Perce,” Bill laughed, his long hair was swept back into a loose ponytail.

“They-” he pointed sharply at the twins, “pushed me down half of the stairs to get down here before me. Can you believe it? Stupid, little-”

“Oh, leave them alone Percy, they’re just excited,” Charlie mumbled through a mouthful of toast, “aren’t you boys?” he ruffled George’s already messy red hair.

They nodded furiously.

“Course we are-”

“-we’d _never_ do something like that-”

“-if it wasn’t cos’ we’re excited!”

Percy huffed, “well, I certainly hope they learn how to behave themselves before we get to Hogwarts-”

“So, it is our Hogwarts letters!” Fred exclaimed, he slammed his fist triumphantly down on the table which shook slightly, sloshes of orange juice leapt from the jug in front of Fred, but he was unbothered, “we knew it!”

Ginny was sitting on the other side of Charlie, she reached a chubby fist over him and grabbed onto the sleeve of George’s pyjama top, “no!” she shouted, “I don’t want you to go to Hogwarts,” she wailed.

Charlie wrapped an arm around her, “don’t worry Gin, you’ll get to go to Hogwarts soon enough,” he reassured, “and think how nice it’ll be to have some peace and quiet in the house for a change.”

Ginny gripped onto George even tighter and shook her head indignantly, “no! I don’t want peace and quiet, I want Fred and George!”

Mr Weasley choked on his coffee and let out a hearty laugh, “well that’s very nice that you’ll miss your brothers so much Ginny, but Ron will still be here for you to play with, and Bill will be here when he isn’t at work.”

Ron who had just shoved a large piece of sausage in his mouth looked up in horror, “no, I don’t want to play with Ginny,” he whined.

Percy was still standing in the doorway, he looked at him disapprovingly, “Ronald, do not speak with your mouth full.”

Ron swallowed and stuck his tongue out him and Ginny giggled.

“We can play Quidditch with my dolls, Ron,” she said brightly.

Ron screwed up his face, “I don’t want to play with dolls!”

Ginny began to whine, and Charlie glared at Ron, “Fred and George have to stay, I want them to stay,” she whimpered.

“Sorry Gin but we’ve got big plans for Hogwarts,” George said, “don’t worry though we’ll send you loads of letters!”

“I hope those _big plans_ involve lots of studying and learning,” Percy said sternly.

Bill groaned, “oh come on Percy, first year is for having fun. And don’t worry Ginny, we’ll play Quidditch with your dolls together every night when I get home from work if you want,” he said, Ginny nodded delightedly at him and finally let go of George’s arm.

Mrs Weasley who was busy frying up dozens of eggs and sausages over the stove suddenly turned around, “Ginny, your brothers need to go to school and like your father said it will be your turn soon, so there is no need to be upset. And Bill says he will play with you so everything is _fine_. And Percy, lighten up! This is a special day for your brothers, I think we already remember how excited _you_ were-”

Fred and George sniggered remembering how Percy tripped over a chicken and sprained his ankle when he ran outside to snatch the post the day his Hogwarts letter arrived.

“-when you got your letter! And you two-” Fred and George suddenly became very serious when their mother turned to face them, “apologise to your brother for pushing him down the stairs, being excited is no reason to assault Percy” she snapped.

“But mum-”

“-we never pushed him!”

“Was more of a gentle nudge if anything really.”

“It was not a nudge and it was not gentle,” Percy huffed, glowering at his younger brothers.

Bill caught Charlie’s eye from across the table and they laughed loudly but they both became very interested in their breakfast when Mrs Weasley looked over at them. Bill grabbed the copy of the Daily Prophet that sat in the middle of the table and hid his face as he pretended to read. Charlie became engaged in conversation with Ginny about what she could use to make broomsticks and Quidditch balls for her dolls.

“We didn’t push him! Honest mum,” Fred protested.

“Don’t lie to me boys or I’ll send those letters straight back!”

Fred and George glanced at each other before turning to Percy, “sorry we pushed you down the stairs,” they mumbled.

Percy drew himself up pompously, “I accept your apology,” he said before sitting down next to Mr Weasley.

“Well, now that’s settled,” Mrs Weasley began, pulling two letters out of her apron pocket, “you can have these,” she smiled handing each of the boys a letter.

“Mum!” Fred exclaimed, “you’ve given me the wrong one, this is Fred’s letter!”

“Oh, sorry George, swap them over then.”

Percy sighed, “not going to make a difference anyway since they’ll say the exact same thing,” he mumbled under his breath.

“You heard mum Perce, lighten up,” Bill whispered, peaking his face out from behind the newspaper. A smile was still playing on his lips.

“Don’t you have work or something to get to?” Percy snapped.

“It’s Saturday stupid!” Ron said and Percy flushed.

“Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother,” George said and the other Weasley children, except for Percy, exploded with laughter. George glanced quickly at Ginny and saw her face flush pink as she laughed along with her brothers, he smiled softly; that was Ginny’s favourite joke.

“Oh well swap them then, and open them!”

“Only joking mum, I am Fred,” he said laughing as he ripped open his letter, George stopped looking at Ginny and tore into his own letter.

“’ Dear Mr Weasley, we are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and’-,” the twins read in sync.

“See! It doesn’t matter who has whose letter, they’re the same,” Percy grumbled, and Bill kicked him hard under the table, “ow!”

“It says first years aren’t allowed brooms!” George cried.

“If I had it my way none of you would ever be on brooms, I don’t like all that quidditch it’s much too dangerous,” Mrs Weasley said.

“Aww mum don’t start, its absolutely fine,” Charlie groaned.

“It certainly is not, tell them, Arthur.”

“Yes, yes, very dangerous.” Mr Weasley said as a smile crept over his face, “you know... muggles play games on the ground why don’t we try one of them-”

Mrs Weasley sighed, “listen to me your four,” she said pointing at the twins, Ron and Ginny, “when you go to Hogwarts there will be no quidditch, the last thing I need is one of you getting hit by a bludger and breaking your neck!”

“Yeah okay, mum-”

“-whatever you say.”

“And speaking of things you will not do at Hogwarts,” Mrs Weasley began again, her voice shrill, “no terrorising your brothers, or your classmates. And listen to your professors, and no breaking rules or sneaking out, or going anywhere near that forest. Understood?”

“Yes mother,” they sang, smiling sweetly whilst secretly nudging each other under the table.

“Don’t worry mother, Charlie and I will be there to keep an eye on them,” Percy said, he looked at Charlie expectantly, but he only shrugged in response.

“He can try,” Fred whispered to George who laughed loudly, earning them another disapproving look from Percy.

“Eat up boys,” said Mr Weasley, clapping his hands as Mrs Weasley placed another tray of eggs and sausages on the table, “we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

“Why what we doin’?” asked Ron with another half a sausage crammed in his mouth.

“Well now your brothers have their letters, next stop is Diagon Alley.”

***

By noon that day, the Beauregard family had made the journey to Diagon Alley by Floo powder. Ophelia had been chastised by her mother for getting soot on her dress - she didn’t dare argue back, but if she’d had the nerve she’d have pointed out it was just a speck.

There were many things to love about Diagon Alley; solid gold cauldrons, barrels of sparkling stones, Florence Fortescue’s ice cream parlour. But Ophelia’s favourite thing about Diagon Alley was the other witches and wizards.

Other than her family she rarely got to see anyone else, the best days were the rare occasions her parent’s friends brought their children when they came to visit, and she got to see people her own age.

So far in her eleven years of life, she had rarely left her own house, and one of the few places she was allowed was Diagon Alley. They had gone every year in the summer since Ophelia could remember to get Hogwarts supplies for her siblings, but since they all had birthdays in winter or autumn she liked to pretend that their annual trip was a special birthday treat for her.

Lynx and Archer were not interested in shopping for Hogwarts supplies with the rest of the family and had disappeared to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

So far, they had made a trip to Gringotts and Flourish and Blotts where Claudius had met a colleague and insisted they carry on to Madam Malkins for robes without him.

Ophelia was most excited about getting her wand but every time she asked when they would be going to Ollivander’s, her mother snapped at her to be patient, so she had now stopped asking.

Just as they were approaching the shop Lyra was pulled into a conversation with her aunt and uncle, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.

Aunt Cissa was the only aunt that Ophelia ever saw, Aunt Bella was in Azkaban – they were only allowed to talk about her in the privacy of the house, and Aunt Andromeda had been disowned – they weren’t allowed to talk about her at all.

So, by default Aunt Cissa was Ophelia’s favourite, she still had a special place in her heart for Great-Aunt Walburga, but she had been dead for nearly four years now.

Draco, who was Ophelia’s favourite cousin, again by default, wasn’t there. She frowned at the absence of his gleaming silver hair; with all her siblings being so much older than her she wasn’t very close to any of them, and Draco felt more like a brother than a cousin to her.

The adults spoke in hushed tones and Ophelia sighed, she fidgeted with her braided hair whilst they waited.

“Perhaps,” her uncle drawled, “it would be more suitable to have this conversation somewhere more private,” he eyed the children suspiciously and Ophelia suppressed the urge to scowl at him, she did not like Uncle Lucius.

“Yes, yes perhaps you are right,” Lyra agreed, “Ariel you are in charge, get the rest of the things your sister needs and then meet the others in the Leaky Cauldron, I’ll find you later.”

So, Ophelia, Ariel, and Leo were ushered into the shop, as Lyra, Lucius and Narcissa sulked off to Knockturn Alley. They entered the seemingly empty shop, it was void of any staff but was decorated with several mannequins displaying wizard robes for all occasions.

Ophelia reached her hand out to touch a beautiful cloak made from shimmering lilac silk, but Ariel slapped her hand away and glared at her.

“Hogwarts?” a squat woman dressed all in mauve appeared from behind a curtain; she had kind blue eyes and a measuring tape draped around her neck.

“Yes, my brother and sister too,” Ariel answered.

“Alright, on you come,” she led them through to the back of the shop and had them stand on three slightly raised platforms, she waved her wand and the measuring tape darted around Leo.

Ophelia looked on in amazement, despite living with six other wizards she was always excited to see real magic, it seemed the novelty would never wear off. She had studied the theory of magic from some of Leo’s old textbooks, but it wasn’t the same as doing magic yourself; Ophelia couldn’t wait to get her hands on a wand.

The measuring tape had wrapped itself around Ophelia’s waist and she instinctively breathed in, “you’re a bit smaller than the standard measurements,” Madame Malkin commented, “I’ll need to take your robes up a bit or they’ll be trailing behind you all year,” she said and directed the measuring tape to Ariel.

Her sister stifled a laugh, “she’s about the same height as the houselves,” she whispered to Leo who promptly ignored her.

Ophelia narrowed her deep-set eyes and folded her arms over her chest, “I am not,” she said.

Ariel whipped her head around and ripples of silky black hair surfed the air, “yes, you are. And your hair is a mess, you didn’t even bother to gel down your baby hairs,” Ariel’s hard amber eyes raked over Ophelia’s slim frame, “and you’ve been in the sun far too much! All those freckles and your skin is getting too dark-”

Madame Malkin cut her off abruptly, “that is quite enough I think,” Ariel opened her mouth to protest but Madame Malkin had already turned to address Ophelia, “don’t worry dear I’m sure you’ll have a growth spurt soon. And if not don’t worry, we short witches are the best witches,” she said kindly.

Ophelia's hand had instinctively flown up to her face to cover her flat, short nose which was currently covered in a splash of freckles. The sun had been relentless the past week, and Ophelia’s birthday party had been held outside courtesy of the unusually warm weather; as a result, she had burnt the tawny brown skin of her face, which had faded to a darker shade of tan and given her freckles. She dropped her hand and smiled shyly at Madame Malkin.

Ariel huffed and pushed the measuring tape away with her hand as it circled her head, the end of it flicked her in the face and Ophelia stifled a laugh, “ _shut up_ ,” Ariel seethed at her sister and Ophelia frowned.

Madam Malkin, snatched the tape back she gave Ariel a warning look but didn’t say anything before she disappeared behind a set of shimmering gold curtains.

“Why’d you always have to be so mean?” Ophelia mumbled, her hands found their way to the ends of her hair again and before she knew it her scalp was aching again.

Ariel laughed coldly, “you need to toughen up before we get to school, no one is going to want to be friends with you if you cry like a baby every time someone says something you don’t like.”

“Aw leave her alone Ariel, she’s probably nervous enough about starting school without you making things worse, and she already had a rough morning with mum, so just back off yeah?” Leo spoke for the first time since they had entered the shop.

Ophelia shot a grateful smile to her brother, but Ariel was bitter as ever, “well, whatever mother did she probably deserved it. She’s _always_ making trouble!”

“I do not, I barely ever get to leave my bedroom.”

“Thank Merlin for that, when you do leave, you’re _socialising_ with the house elves or out making a mess of yourself in the garden,” Ariel spat.

“Leave her alone Ariel, she’s a child, she’s allowed to have fun.”

“Well, not anymore. Once we get to Hogwarts she will have to learn to behave properly, you heard father at breakfast – we must uphold the family name, and we cannot do that if _she_ is frolicking around with beasts, mudbloods and blood traitors!”

Ophelia winced at her sister’s harsh words. In her daily lessons, her mother taught her that mudbloods, half-bloods and blood traitors were horrid creatures and far inferior to them. Ophelia dreaded to be associated with them.

"I won't be frolicking with any beasts or mudbloods!" Ophelia snapped, "and I only speak to the houselves because you two are always at school and Archer and Lynx are always at work. And even when you are home you never want to play with me anyways," she spat.

“ _See_ , and there's hardly going to be any mudbloods or blood traitors in Slytherin, and since she will be one of us, I don’t think you should concern yourself with it too much,” Leo snapped.

Ophelia offered a silent plead, to no one in particular, that she would be sorted into Slytherin, her mother had assured her she would be safe and protected there.

Ariel opened her mouth to respond, but fell silent when Madam Malkin re-appeared holding three deep purple bags, “Your robes,” she said shortly, eyeing Ariel cautiously, and Ophelia felt her cheeks burn sure that the woman had overheard their conversation.

Their mother also encouraged her to keep their opinions on blood status quiet around strangers. She said not everyone was so enlightened, and it might lead them to make _‘unfounded accusations.’_

Ophelia wasn’t entirely sure what she meant but was certain it was something to do with the whispers and secret meetings between her parents, Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lucius, and their mutual friends.

By the twisted expression imprinted on Madam Malkin’s face, Ophelia gathered she was one of these _’unenlightened souls’,_ her mother talked about.

She cringed at the thought of their mother finding out that they had slipped up in front of a stranger and felt certain she would somehow get all of the blame. Ariel was never the one at fault.

“Leo take the bags,” Ariel ordered as she handed Madam Malkin a handful of coins. Madam Malkin would not meet Ariel’s eye as she processed the transaction, but Ariel stood up straight and stared coldly at her.

Ophelia kept her eyes firmly fixed on her shiny shoes. Madame Malkin handed Ariel back her change which she stuffed back into the green velvet coin purse their mother had entrusted her with.

Ariel smiled nastily at Madame Malkin, “come on Ophelia, we still have lots to buy,” she said and made her way towards the door. Ophelia wasn’t listening to her; she was still laden with embarrassment and hurt about Ariel’s comments about mudbloods and her appearance.

“Oh, come on,” Ariel snapped, she grabbed Ophelia’s arm and dragged her out of the shop, “we don’t have all day for you to stand about and sulk!”

“I wouldn’t be sulking if you hadn’t been so rude,” Ophelia said, Ariel looked ready to launch herself at her sister, but Leo intervened hastily.

“Look, we’ve already got her books and uniform, I need a new set of scales, so I’ll get her other equipment whilst I’m there. Lia can go get her wand if you give her some galleons and then you can go look in whatever shops you want,” he said.

Ariel looked conflicted for a moment; she was enjoying ruling over her younger siblings, but she was desperate to get her hands on some of Madame Primpernelle’s new beauty potions.

She narrowed her eyes, “fine, but you better not get yourselves into any trouble. And if mother asks, I’ll tell her you both wandered off on your own.”

“Fine by me,” Leo said, “Ollivander’s is down that way,” he said and pointed to his left, “you can’t miss it, I’ll see you both later,” he waved sarcastically and sauntered back up the alley.

Ariel thrust a handful of gold coins to Ophelia which she placed carefully in the beaded green bag that hung from her shoulder, “try not to get lost,” Ariel said unpleasantly before dashing into a nearby shop, leaving Ophelia alone in the middle of the bustling alley.

***

George was itching to get away from his family; more specifically, from the watchful eyes of his mother and Percy.

Diagon Alley was bursting with exciting things to see but Mrs Weasley would snatch the collar of his top at any attempt to browse items not on his Hogwarts list.

His excitement after receiving his letter this morning had begun to dissipate, and he was left with a growing ball of anxiety gnawing at his stomach from which he desperately wanted a distraction.

“Mum, when can we go to Ollivander’s?” Fred groaned; he was still sulking after Mrs Weasley had snapped at him for trying to sneak a bottle of Exploding Oryx Horns into their shopping basket in the Apothecary.

“We’ll get to it! We need to get Percy’s books first, he’s taking twelve subjects this year,” Mrs Weasley beamed as she ruffled Percy’s hair who tried not to look too pleased with himself before disappearing behind a dusty bookcase.

“What about our books?” Fred asked.

Mrs Weasley’s smile faltered slightly, “well you two only need some general textbooks for the first-year curriculum, so you can use Bill and Charlie’s old books,” she busied herself scanning Percy’s book lists again before adding brightly, “they’re in very good condition!”

“But if we’re not getting any new books then why do we have to be in here,” Fred grumbled, motioning around the dingy second-hand book shop they were crammed into, “why can’t we go look at Quidditch stuff with dad and Charlie?”

“Or to Gambol and Japes with Bill, Ron and Ginny?” George piped up.

Fred nodded furiously next to him, “exactly, anything would be more interesting than here.”

George couldn’t help but agree has he looked glumly around the shop.

It was dark and musty, crammed from floor to ceiling with rickety bookshelves containing books older than his parents which were falling apart at the spine. George was flicking through the yellowed pages of an ancient copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, which had coated his hands in a thick layer of dust.

He suddenly felt grateful to be getting his brother's old books if they were better kept than ones in this shop. He was already nervous about starting school with his threadbare hand-me-down robes and dented secondhand cauldron, he didn’t need all his books falling apart too.

“Because the last thing I need is you two finding a way to smuggle Dungbombs or those ridiculous no-water fireworks-”

“-wet-start, no heat-fireworks,” Fred corrected smugly, and George disguised a snigger as a cough after Mrs Weasley turned to face him indignantly.

“I don’t care what they’re called! But your brothers have given us a good reputation at Hogwarts and you two will not be ruining it by pushing people downstairs or turning their hair green.”

“What about blue?” Fred said cheekily, and Mrs Weasley looked murderous.

George was certain she was about to unleash hell on him when Percy appeared again and saved them from trouble rather than landing them in it for the first time, “mother, I’ve found everything I need.”

“Excellent,” Mrs Weasley said clapping her hands together, “let’s get these paid for and then we can go to Ollivander’s, _if_ you behave,” she gave the twins a pointed look before bustling up to the till with Percy hot on her heels.

“D’you reckon everyone’s gonna expect us to be smart and well behaved like Bill, Charlie and Percy?” George asked.

“Something tells me Bill wasn’t as _well behaved_ at school as he’d like mum to think,” Fred snorted.

“You know what I mean.”

Fred shrugged, “don’t know, don’t care really. They can be professors’ pets if they want, doesn’t mean we have to. And if everyone at Hogwarts is like Percy then they could all do with being shaken up a little don’t you think?” Fred said nonchalantly.

George didn’t say anything and stared down at his feet, “but what if everyone thinks we’re weird, or annoying, or stupid?”

He tugged at the sleeves of his top, he pulled them over his hands and then drew his arms around himself tightly.

“You’re worried people won’t like us?”

“And that we won’t make any friends,” George mumbled, he looked away from his twin as he felt his cheeks begin to burn.

Fred threw an arm around his brother, “well, if they don’t then it's their loss. And you’ve got me so what more could you ask for?” he laughed and a smile crept across George’s face, “besides, they’d be stupid not to want to be friends the greatest prankster’s Hogwarts has ever seen!”

George grinned appreciatively at his twin and all his apprehensions seemed to melt away as he felt a sudden rush of affection for his brother, “yeah, you’re right.”

 _“Course I am, after all, I am older, which makes me the smartest and the best!”_ Fred said in an uncanny impression of Percy which sent George into a fit of laughter, _“and always right, and I have a huge stick up my ars-”_

“What are you two laughing at?” Percy asked sharply as he appeared from one of the towering bookcases.

“Nothing you’d find funny,” Fred snapped, he was evidently still bitter about Percy pointing out the bottle of Exploding Oryx Horns in their shopping basket.

He eyed them suspiciously but didn’t push it any further, “mother says we can go to Ollivander’s now, you both better behave though. Wands are expensive and she might think twice about buying you both one if you keep up your usual level of cheek.”

“Whatever you say Perce,” Fred said as he grabbed George’s arm and dragged him towards the door.

“Well don’t go running off now! You don’t even know where you’re going,” Percy hollered after them.

“Straight down to the left, can’t miss it,” George shouted back as they began to run down Diagon Alley, dodging in and out of other witches and wizards.

The July sun was beating down on them, but the breeze was cold on their faces as they ran. George glanced at his brother who was laughing with him and felt convinced that Hogwarts wouldn’t be so daunting with Fred at his side.

***

Ophelia arrived outside Ollivander’s after a short walk from Madame Malkin’s. She stared up at the peeling gold lettering on the faded shop front and wrinkled her nose.

The desolate-looking shop left her feeling slightly disappointed, this was supposed to be where she got her first magic wand, an important moment in any young witch or wizard’s life.

But here she was, looking at a dusty window displaying a single wand on a faded purple cushion and her expectations were not high.

She pushed open the door and crept inside, upon seeing the interior she felt even more doubtful that Ollivander’s was the best place to buy a wand.

She began to think that her family were playing a trick on her, but before she could turn to leave a raspy voice spoke from the shadows, “Ophelia Beauregard.”

“How do you know my name?” she stammered.

“Daughter of Claudius Beauregard and Lyra Black, and the youngest of five siblings. I remember every wand I ever sold Miss Beauregard, your family have always favoured a dragon heartstring core. They strive for power. Most easily turned to the dark arts,” a tall and slender frame skirted forward from the back of the shop and circled Ophelia, “I wonder what wand will choose you,” she shifted uncomfortably where she stood, his silver eyes burning holes through her.

She smiled weakly at him, unsure how to respond. Her fingers held the ends of her hair like a vice.

“Let’s see Miss Beauregard,” he mused, his piercing stare didn’t waver, “which is your wand arm?”

Ophelia lifted a skinny and slightly trembling arm, “my right.”

He nodded and with a lazy flick of his wand a silver measuring tape darted over to Ophelia and began to measure her arm from wrist to shoulder, “no two Ollivander wands are the same, we only use the finest cores unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feather. The wand chooses the wizard, or witch,” he added hastily as he pilfered through boxes, “and you will never get the same results with another’s wand. But I imagine you know all this,” she said and turned to look at her expectantly.

“Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Speak up.”

“Y-yes. Yes, I did know that. My mother taught me,” she said this time with more confidence.

Mr Ollivander nodded curtly, “I expect your mother has taught you a great deal of things. I remember her coming her for her wand when she was your age. Blackthorn, dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches. Rigid. Good for…complex spells,” Ophelia felt Mr Ollivander’s eyes on her again and looked at her shoes.

She desperately wished Leo and Ariel hadn’t left her alone.

“Try this,” he said handing her a dark, slim wand, “Walnut and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches.”

Ophelia took the wand from his spindly hand and as soon as it touched her skin a violent burst of green sparks erupted from its tip, she cried out as the wand seemed to burn her skin and she dropped it instantly.

“Perhaps not,” Mr Ollivander said with a tight-lipped smile as he delicately picked up the wand from the floor.

“Sorry,” Ophelia mumbled, giving her braid another sharp tug.

He waved his hand, “no need to apologise, my dear, wandlore is a complicated branch of magic. The wand chooses the wizard and that wand did not like you,” he pulled down another box and opened it carefully, “try this; holly and unicorn hair, ten and three-quarter inches, springy.”

Ophelia begrudgingly took the wand from him, but no sooner had it touched her skin, Mr Ollivander had snatched it back, “no, not quite right,” he said, more to himself than Ophelia.

“Here, hazel and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, quite whippy.”

Again, Ophelia didn’t have the chance to tighten her fingers around the wand before Mr Ollivander had lunged forward to grab it back from her, “don’t worry, don’t worry we’ll get you sorted, try this.”

Another wand. Ebony and phoenix feather, seven inches. Again, grabbed back before she could give it wave.

Yew and dragon heartstring, ten and three-quarter inches. Seized away immediately.

Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Mr Ollivander looked hopeful, but the wand only gave a dribble of green sparks and it too was snatched back from her hand.

“Not to worry, I like a challenge,” he said, his silver eyes beginning to twinkle slightly as he pulled another armful of boxes from a shelf, but none of them proved to be successful. The pile of unsuccessful wands was beginning to grow higher and Ophelia felt increasingly doubtful that she would ever find a wand.

The door creaked open and in burst two identical red-haired boys who couldn’t have been much older than Ophelia, her eyes quickly scanned over them. Ill-fitting and outdated clothes, messy hair and gigantic grins plastered on each of their faces. Ophelia turned up her nose slightly and looked away.

Barely a second later the door opened again and in waltzed a slightly older boy with the same flaming red hair, and a squat woman who was wearing the trademark red on her face as well as her hair, “what have I told you boys about running off?” she snapped.

“More Weasleys,” Mr Ollivander said bemused, “I’ll be with you in just a moment, this young lady is proving to be a rather difficult customer,” he said with a slight chuckle as he motioned to the countless wands scattered around the shop.

“Not to worry dear, I’m sure you’ll find your wand soon,” the woman said kindly, but Ophelia could only offer her a curt nod.

She knew the name Weasley, and she knew it wasn’t something she wanted to be associated with.

“Try this,” Mr Ollivander said, “dogwood and phoenix feather, ten and three-quarter inches.”

Ophelia took the wand from him; she pleaded this wand would choose her and wouldn’t embarrass her in front of the _Weasleys_ , of all people.

This time, Mr Ollivander actually let her take the wand into her hand, she tentatively gave it a wave but it leapt from her hand and spiralled through the air till it was expertly caught by one of the red-haired twins.

In his hand it produced a marvellous burst of red fireworks which bounced around the shop, exploding into tiny red sparks.

Mr Ollivander let out a cry of joy and clapped his hands together, “well Mr Weasley, I’d say you’ve found your wand. The wand chooses the wizard that is correct, but that was something quite spectacular!”

“Go on Georgie!” the other twin said, clapping his brother on his back.

“Well done George,” Mrs Weasley said as she pulled her son into a tight embrace, which he promptly shrugged off.

“Aw is ickle Georgiekins embarrassed?” his twin teased and the boy, George, hit him over the back of the head.

“Shut up,” he grunted, his eyes flicking over to Ophelia.

“Boys that is quiet enough,” Mrs Weasley said sternly, “I do apologise, Mr Ollivander, they are a tad over-excited.”

The other boy tutted and shook his head at the twins, Ophelia couldn’t help but agree with his reaction. She huffed and folded her arms tightly over her chest. Why did it work for him on his very first try, but not for her after what must have been a hundred wands?

Mr Ollivander’s face was still grinning widely, but he turned his attention back to Ophelia, “don’t worry Miss Beauregard, I haven’t forgotten about you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ophelia noticed Mrs Weasley take an instinctive step closer to her children and Ophelia stared at her, green eyes hard and cold. Mrs Weasley quickly looked away.

“Silver lime and phoenix feather, ten and three-quarter inches,” Mr Ollivander said handing her an intricately detailed wand. Determined to show up the Weasley’s, Ophelia confidently took the wand from his hand.

Instantly, she felt a rush of warmth and power flow through her body, the wand didn’t feel like a piece of deadwood in her hand but rather an extension of her own body.

A burst of green sparks erupted from the wand just like the first one she had tried, but this time it didn’t burn her instead it filled her with a dizzying rush of adrenaline. If this was what real magic felt like, Ophelia never wanted to put the wand down.

“Aha!” Mr Ollivander said gleefully, “I told you we’d get a wand for you didn’t I! Do you have any seer blood in your family?” he asked, the piercing stare she had begun to grow familiar with returned.

Ophelia shook her head, “not that I know of. Why?”

He nodded slowly but didn’t avert his gaze, “curious. Silver lime wands tend to favour Seers. Or those skilled in Legilimency,” he looked at her expectantly.

Ophelia shifted uncomfortably and gripped her wand tightly, she was now acutely aware of the eyes of everyone in the shop boring into her skull, “n-no,” she swallowed, “my family is just normal.”

She pretended not to hear Mrs Weasley huff behind her.

Mr Ollivander looked at her suspiciously but didn’t say anything else, he offered her the slim grey box for her wand which she carefully placed inside.

None of the Weasleys spoke a word as he charged her seven galleons for her wand. Her hand trembled as she counted out the coins Ariel had given her; she could feel the glare of Mrs Weasley without having to turn and face her.

“Good day Miss Beauregard, I am curious to see where that wand will take you,” Mr Ollivander said cryptically and gave her a small wave.

Ophelia laughed nervously and made her way to the door, she narrowly avoided walking headfirst into the red-haired boy who had caught the wand from her.

George Weasley.

She still felt dizzy from the rush of magic and the overwhelming anxiety that came from having five people stare intensely at you.

“Careful,” he said jokingly, the same goofy smile that had come from catching the wand was still plastered on his face.

Ophelia stared coldly at him; her eyes flickered over him again. They focused critically on his messy curls, threadbare red top (which clashed horrifically with his hair), and unpolished shoes.

Her eyes were carefully trained to notice these things and evaluate who was a worthy companion and who wasn’t.

He did not fit the Lyra Beauregard standard.

And then there was that _name_.

Weasley.

Bloodtraitor.

Poor.

Ophelia threw him one last glare before she swung open the door and burst into the fresh air and warm sunlight, a welcome change from the musty air of Ollivander’s shop.

She was filled with a surge of newfound confidence after obtaining her very own wand, she gripped the box tightly as she strutted back up Diagon Alley.

She was Ophelia Beauregard.

Pureblood.

Rich.

Future Slytherin.

For the first time, she felt important, and she liked the way it made her feel. She understood now why her siblings were always treating her like she was inferior, the rush of confidence and power was enough to make her feel drunk. Ariel was right; she did need to toughen up before Hogwarts.

Ophelia Beauregard decided at that moment that she would never again let anyone look down on her.

Especially not someone like a Weasley.


	2. silent scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings:  
> emotional abuse  
> physical abuse  
> abusive parents/family

_~so i cry and cry, but just won’t get it out~_

_1989_

George wanted to scream.

Ginny was having a temper tantrum, wailing at the top of her lungs. Ron was shouting because he wanted Ginny to be quiet. Charlie was leaning across George to try and calm Ginny down, sandwiching him between the wall and his brother’s torso. Fred and Percy were arguing loudly across the table. And Mrs Weasley was shouting above all the commotion, whilst juggling a dozen different pots and pans, trying to prepare dinner.

He sighed miserably and shifted in his seat; the kitchen was hot and loud and crammed.

George had never felt particularly claustrophobic before, but he couldn’t help but think the tightness in his chest was caused by the tiny wedge of space he had to sit in amongst the chaos.

“Stop exaggerating Fred!” Percy snapped, “haven’t you ever heard the story of the boy who cried werewolf?”

“I’m not exaggerating!” Fred roared back.

George wanted to run away, through the back garden and beyond the tree line. He wanted to run and run until he couldn't see the Burrow, till he couldn't hear his family. He wanted to run until he was only surrounded by the fields, trees, and the stars.

Till the silence surrounded him.

"Boys! Stop that shouting this instant, or they'll be no dinner for either of you. You'll be sorry when your father gets home," thundered Mrs Weasley, her face was almost as red as her hair.

Her attempt to diffuse the situation between Percy and Fred was useless against Ginny’s cries. Tears were streaming freely down her face as she fidgeted restlessly in her chair.

"But I don't want you to leave" she wept, "you leave me every year, and now Fred and George will be gone too, I don't want to be stuck with _Ron!_ ”

“Ginny shut up! Ginny shut up! Ginny shut up!” Ron chanted, slamming his fists against the table.

Charlie forced George to shrink back further into his chair as he stretched himself more to reach Ginny, he held her hand tightly, “Ginny we have to go to school it’s the law, and it’ll be your turn to go to Hogwarts too before you know it.”

“Not for another _four years_. I don't want only to have Ron to play with for four years," she sobbed.

"I don't want to play with you either," Ron shouted, sticking his tongue out at his sister, which only made her cry more.

George screwed his eyes shut as Ginny’s cries echoed around the kitchen. He loved Ginny with all his heart; but he was so grateful that this time tomorrow he’d be sat in the Great Hall, far, far away from his screeching sister.

"The wand flew into his hand. I'm telling you, Percy!" Fred said.

Percy tutted, “it didn’t _fly_ that Beauregard girl obviously did some stupid, uncontrolled magic with it and George just happened to catch it,” he seethed, “and George was just lucky that the wand chose him.”

“Do not speak that name in my kitchen,” Mrs Weasley’s voice boomed.

George groaned, it had been over a month since the trip to Diagon Alley, and he was sick of hearing about the Beauregard family. The girl from Ollivander's had seemed uptight and snobbish, but George didn't know why that meant they weren't allowed to speak her name at the dinner table.

“You’re a blind git if you think that’s really what happened, you’re just jealous ‘cos George could do more magic with a wand he’d had for two seconds than you could do with the one you’ve had two years!”

Percy looked as though he was having a stroke and didn’t speak for several moments, during this time the noise in the kitchen decreased to only Ginny’s screaming, Charlie’s reassuring, and Ron’s chanting.

Percy took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, his voice sounded an awful lot like that of Great Aunt Muriel’s as he spoke, “a couple of red sparks-”

“Fireworks! Not sparks, _fireworks_.”

“-does not count as magic!” Percy’s voice had jumped up several octaves as he argued viciously with his brother.

Like Mrs Weasley, his face was burning a bright red which blended with his hair; he was so malevolent he hadn’t adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses which were sliding further and further down his nose every time he shouted back at Fred.

Mrs Weasley sighed loudly and glanced at the clock again, the hands which read _‘Bill’_ and _‘Arthur’_ were still firmly fixed on work.

She threw up her hands, “we’ll just need to start dinner without them,” she said frowning.

George ducked under Charlie’s arm and squeezed out of the corner he was wedged in, and shuffled over to his mother, “d’you need a hand with anything?”

Mrs Weasley was startled for a moment but quickly forced a smile onto her flushed face, "no, no George, I'll manage, sit back down, and I'll get us sorted."

George frowned, "bit hard to just sit down with all that going on," he said, motioning back to the table.

Ron had pulled Ginny’s hair in an attempt to silence her, so she was now hitting him over the head with a doll, dressed in a hand-knitted chaser’s uniform.

“Ah,” said Mrs Weasley, flustered, “yes, well…why don’t you pour some jugs of water, dear?”

George nodded and pulled a selection of mismatched jugs from the cupboard under the sink and began to fill them up with water from the tap. His hands trembled slightly.

“Stop crying Ginny, only _babies_ cry. Are you a baby?” Ron said giggling and poking Ginny in the cheek repeatedly.

Ginny wailed and tried to push him off, but Ron pushed back harder.

Charlie glared at him, “you’re not helping, Ron,” he hissed.

George focused intently on the stream of water from the tap, admiring how it crashed into the jug.

“You know Fred, no one will want to be your friend at Hogwarts if you keep telling stories,” Percy said pompously.

“Yeah? Guess no one wants to be your friend if you’re a specky, know-it-all git either since you don’t seem to have any.”

“Fred Weasley! How dare you speak to your brother like that” Mrs Weasley’s voice boomed next to George, making him jump, “when your father gets home…” she began to mutter to herself.

“I’ll have you know that I do have friends! In fact, I am very much looking forward to seeing my good friend Oliver Wo-”

Fred puffed his chest out and raised his voice to imitate Percy's high pitched, arrogant tone, " _oooo I am very much looking forward to seeing my good friend! We are off for a spot of afternoon tea and then a little soiree with some other stuck-up, boring motherfuc_ -”

“Fred Weasley!”

George switched over the now full jug for an empty one. He focused on the rhythmic flow of water from the tap.

Ron burst into laughter at Fred’s words, “Ginny you’re a motherfuc-”

“Ron!” Charlie said warningly.

“What’s a motherfuc?” Ginny asked frantically, her pale cheeks were flushed, and her fiery red hair swished around her as she turned her head between Fred and Ron.

Charlie suppressed a laugh, “nothing you need to worry about Gin.”

“What’s a motherfuc?” she cried, “mum! Charlie won’t tell me what a motherfuc is.”

George clenched his hands on the edge of the sink, so tight his knuckles turned white.

“That is enough!” Mrs Weasley hollered, her eyes bulged in her head slightly.

“But mum-” Ginny began to whine.

"Be quiet, Ginny, you're acting very childish. You're a big girl now, and you need to start acting your age," Percy scolded.

“Ha! Told you,” said Ron, sniggering loudly.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” Fred snapped, he stretched across the table to try and hit Percy, who instinctively dove under the table, before he could snatch Percy’s hair, Charlie had pulled him back into his seat.

“Gerrofme,” Fred grunted as he struggled against Charlie’s grip.

“Charlie get off of Fred!” Ginny cried, she turned her attention away from Ron and hit Charlie with her doll instead.

“Whooo!" Ron cheered, "go, Fred! Go, Fred! Go, Fred!" he said, banging on the table again.

George screwed his eyes shut.

“Boys! If you do not stop that behaviour this instant-”

Under the table, Percy let out a yelp and tried to jump to his feet but ended up smashing his head off of the underside of the table, which shook violently. He crawled out and stood up, his glasses were askew, and his hair was ruffled.

“Fred kicked me!”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did, I saw your big, ugly foot coming straight at my face.”

“Maybe your big, ugly nose shouldn’t have been in the way of my foot.”

Ron and Ginny burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

The tightness in George's chest only grew worse, and he struggled to catch a breath. He stared intently at the still water in the jug; he tried took in a deep, but shaky breath as he wished he could feel as calm and cool as the water.

“That’s it!” Mrs Weasley shouted, “I have a good mind not to let you go back to Hogwarts tomorrow, but I’m demented with the lot of you-”

"Don't send them away, mum, make them stay!" Ginny said.

“I already told you, Ginny, we have to go,” Charlie said kindly, he was the only one in the kitchen that had maintained his composure.

"Be quiet, Ginny," Mrs Weasley snapped, and Ginny started to cry again.

“You made Ginny cry,” Fred said indignantly.

Mrs Weasley clenched her jaw, “who do you think you are Fred Weasley?”

Percy snorted, “yes Fred, how dare you speak to our moth-”

"Percy! I am speaking" Mrs Weasley roared, and Percy was taken aback, he huffed and sat down in his seat again.

Fred, Ginny, and Ron started laughing again, and Mrs Weasley looked murderous.

“I have had enough of this behaviour-” Mrs Weasley began to shout again, but before she could continue her rant, one of the water jugs exploded.

Ron let out a very high-pitched scream.

“What on earth-”

The second jug exploded, spraying another gallon of water across the kitchen. George winced at the sound of the glass shards clattering against the floor, he scrambled to pick up the pieces, but his hands were shaking so violently he couldn’t even control his fingers.

No one spoke, and the kitchen was silent for the first time that night.

Bill’s hand on the clock briefly moved to _travelling_ , and then settled on _home._ There was a faint crack outside, and then Bill Weasley burst through the kitchen door, grinning widely.

"Evening," he greeted the still silent Weasley's as he hung his cloak upon a hook, he crossed the kitchen to kiss his mother on the cheek, "dinner smells great mum, I'm starving," he said, before flopping down on an empty chair around the table.

“Good evening Bill,” Percy said stiffly, “how was your day?”.

“Yeah, not bad,” he said, yawning, “what’s wrong with you lot?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, I’ve never heard you all so quiet.” 

George hissed as a shard of glass sliced through his finger. Beads of blood ran down his hand and dripped onto the floor, red spatters bleeding across the faded green linoleum.

Percy strained his neck to see over Bill's head, "what have you done now, George?" he huffed.

“Oh Georgie,” Mrs Weasley cried as she caught sight of the mess in front of her son, she grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up to begin examining his hands, “they’re not too deep, we’ll get you fixed up in no time,” she reassured, pulling him to a tight hug.

“What’s wrong with George?” Ginny demanded.

“He’s just being silly Ginny.”

"Shut up, Percy," Fred snapped, "you alright, George?"

George nodded stiffly, “yeah I’m alright, just being silly…” he mumbled, wincing as his mother delicately mended the superficial cuts with her wand. He tore his eyes away from the slick red coating on his fingers, the sight of it made him dizzy.

“Is George going to be okay?” Ginny sniffled.

Percy rolled his eyes, “of course he is, it was only a tiny bit of glass. George should’ve been more careful.”

“I don’t think you’re being very helpful Percy,” Bill said, "I think it's sweet you're concerned about George, but he will be fine,” he reached a large, calloused hand out to grip Ginny’s, “it was only a little cut.”

“As Percy so eloquently pointed out,” Charlie said under his breath, giving his older brother a knowing looking.

George clung onto the edge of the kitchen counter, without the crutch of his mother's tight grip, the ground seemed to sway beneath his feet. He caught sight of the blood on the floor, stark red against the faded green background, and he felt something acidic clawing its way up his throat.

“What’s that smell?” Ron piped up, he held his nose in the air and scrunched it to inhale more of the faint, smoky scent invading the kitchen.

Mrs Weasley whipped her head around to face the oven, “oh Merlin, the potatoes!” she pulled out a glass casserole dish full of blackened roast potatoes but gave an angry shout as it burned her hand.

Bill jumped to his feet, “mum come and sit down-”

“-but the dinner-”

“Forget about the dinner, just sit down,” Bill said firmly, he guided his mother to a chair and tentatively examined the angry, red welts which were appearing on her hand.

“Your father will be home any minute,” she protested.

“Dad can wait for his dinner,” Charlie said, “let me take a look at that, Bill can deal with the food, and I'll sort your hand.”

Bill nodded at him and squeezed his mother’s shoulder gently before busying himself at the stove.

Charlie assumed Bill’s position and inspected the burn, “it doesn’t look too bad, won’t take too much to fix," he said, and Mrs Weasley smiled appreciatively at him.

Percy snorted, “what do you know about magical burn healing?”

“Considering I plan to go to Romania and work with dragons next year, quite a bit,” Charlie said in an uncharacteristically sharp tone.

“Boys don’t start please…” Mrs Weasley said warily; she fanned herself lightly with her other hand, "Fred, open that door and let some air in here please, it’s awfully hot.”

Ginny pulled on the sleeve of Ron’s maroon jumper, “is mummy going to be okay?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Ron said, shrugging her off roughly.

“I’m going to be just fine Ginny dear; Ronald be nice to your sister.”

George watched the scene from the opposite if the kitchen, his stomach heavy with nausea and guilt. If he hadn’t cut himself, his mother wouldn’t have been distracted long enough for the potatoes to burn.

Fred wedged the back door open, and a gush of cool air flooded the kitchen as he crossed it to join his twin, “you alright mate, you’re a bit pale?” he said, frowning.

George laughed shakily, "you can thank mum and dad for that…gingers are always pale, y'know…"

Fred gave him a look.

“I’m fine, honestly…” he dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “I’m just not so good with blood,” he whispered to Fred, his eyes darted to the pool of blood, and he swallowed hard.

“Oh, okay then.”

“There, good as new,” Charlie said.

Mrs Weasley examined her healed hand, “are you sure you wouldn’t rather be a healer than go off with dragons? It seems awfully dangerous-”

Charlie groaned, “mum, we've already talked about this, and you can't change my mind.”

Mrs Weasley and Charlie's squabble faded into the background; he was only vaguely aware of Fred's presence next to him as the edges of his vision blurred.

“I don’t feel too good,” he said abruptly, swallowing the bile which threatened to burst out of him, “I’m going to bed.”

"Are you sure you're okay, Georgie?"

He nodded, "yeah, mum, really. Just tired, want to get an early night before tomorrow…”

“What about your dinner?” she asked, placing a reassuring hand on George’s shoulder.

“Not hungry,” he mumbled, shrugging her off as he shuffled towards the kitchen door.

“Maybe I’ll bring you up something later?” Mrs Weasley called after him.

George didn’t respond as he dragged his feet up the rickety sets of stairs, gripping tightly to the bannister's rough wood the entire time.

He pushed open the squeaky door to the room he shared with Fred, sighing as he saw the muddle of clothes and books, which they were meant to have packed already, strewn across the floor. Exhausted, he threw the few items of clothing he had managed to neatly fold from his bed to join the mess and flopped down onto the springy mattress.

On top of his duvet, still fully clothed and unshowered George fell asleep almost instantly. 

***

Ophelia's last month at home had been almost fun. Since discovering her new self in Diagon Alley, her home life had drastically improved. To her mother's delight, she was bright and attentive in her daily lessons. Lyra couldn't help but feel proud her youngest child was finally understanding the value of tradition and blood purity.

Ariel was pleasantly surprised when her younger sister had asked for advice about her hair and clothes. She was of course more than happy to give her some guidance to ‘ _uphold the Beauregard family reputation’_ and had since stopped making snide comments about Ophelia’s appearance.

Lynx patiently revised the basic spells and charms taught in first year with her, the Beauregard children were known for their outstanding academic records, and Ophelia was not about to ruin that.

Leo, who was the star of the Slytherin quidditch team, helped tackle her fear of heights and she was finally able to rise more than two feet off the ground on a broomstick.

Claudius Beauregard felt his glacier heart melt slightly when Ophelia proudly declared her intentions to join her siblings in Slytherin.

Even Archer couldn’t stop his lips from curling upwards as Ophelia described her encounter with the Weasleys in Ollivander’s again at dinner on August 31st.

“Honestly, you should’ve seen the state of his shoes,” she giggled to Ariel, the two sisters had never been so amicable and had even pushed their chairs close together.

“They probably don’t have a polishing brush between them,” she whispered back, “speaking of which, Poppy, make sure all my shoes are properly polished before I go to bed. They _still_ have smudges on the toes, and I need to pack them tonight,” she said, her entire demeanour changed as she addressed Poppy, the family houself.

The creature was currently holding a gleaming silver platter of salmon, vegetables, and potatoes out for Lynx to help himself from, “of course Miss Ariel,” she nodded furiously, “Mr Leo, Miss Ophelia, do you also need your shoes polished?” she asked nervously.

Leo shrugged, “yeah, I guess.”

Ophelia didn’t answer at first until Ariel elbowed her hard in the ribs, “tell her you need your shoes polished, what’s the point of a houself if you don’t use it? Besides, you don’t want to be looking as scruffy as a Weasley on your first day,” she sniggered.

Ophelia nodded dryly; she did not want to give any reason to compare her to a Weasley, or any of _that sort_.

"Yes, Poppy, mine need polished. And check my robes are properly pressed too, I don’t want any creases in my new uniform.”

Lyra nodded approvingly, “I must say, Ophelia, I am pleasantly surprised by your newfound respect for our ways. I was beginning to think I’d never get through to you,” she said and took a long drink of wine from her goblet. 

“It wasn’t till I saw those Weasley’s in Diagon Alley that I really understood what you meant by _the wrong sort_.”

Poppy approached Ophelia’s chair and held the patter up for Ophelia to help herself; she gently picked up the silver tongs and took a small portion of fish and vegetables. The elf looked up at her with watery blue eyes, but Ophelia looked away quickly.

“Remember Ophelia,” Claudius spoke quietly, and they all had to lean in slightly, “it’s not just their financial status that makes them a disgrace to the name of wizard. Most importantly it’s their blatant disrespect for their pure blood, Arthur Weasley worships muggles and mudbloods alike. It’s abhorrent to put it lightly,” he grimaced at his words, clenching his knife tightly in his fist.

Lyra took a long drink from her goblet, “you must be careful not to get involved with that kind of dangerous behaviour, if any of our children became blood traitors, we wouldn’t hesitate to blast you off the family tree. Or worse.”

Archer nodded solemnly, “blood traitor is next to mudblood in my book.”

Ophelia dared to glance at him. His sharp jaw was tense, and he clenched his knife tightly in his fist, he caught Ophelia looking at him and stared back with eyes so dark they were almost black. She had never gotten on well with any of her siblings, but she felt they still cared for her deep down, and she for them.

But anytime she locked eyes with Archer, all she could see was pure hatred.

"Whatever people at school say, Ophelia, your family was on the right side of the wizarding war. We’re not evil; they simply can't see that we've been right all along. The Weasleys are too far gone to be redeemed, but as long as you continue on the correct path, you won't be like them. Its people like them who want mudbloods and werewolves and all kinds of vile creatures to be treated as our equal that makes them the real evil ones."

“I understand, father,” Ophelia said.

“Don’t worry," Lynx said sympathetically, "you won't need to deal with any of that riff-raff in Slytherin, and once you make suitable friends, you’ll be able to stick with them in classes so won’t need to even look at the mudbloods.”

Lyra took another long swig of wine, "speaking of suitable friends; the Parkinson's have a daughter your age, she'll be starting Hogwarts this year too. It would be a wise move to befriend her.”

"Yes, mother."

“And Robert Pucey’s boy is starting this year too,” Claudius said, “you’ve met him a few times.”

"Yes, father, I remember him."

Ophelia thought back fondly to memories of a young boy with caramel curls running wild in the garden, his clothes splattered with mud. Adrian was fun to play with, and she was excused from lessons on days he came over.

But what she remembered most vividly was the way his mother wrapped her arms around him and wiped his tears when he broke his arm falling out a tree.

The way she didn’t shout at him for ruining his nice clothes.

The way she kissed his forehead and told him she loved him.

Mrs Pucey was a very strange type of mother, she thought.

Lyra gripped her goblet tightly and dragged it to her lips again, “it’s such a shame he’s not part of the twenty-eight too. He would’ve made such a good match,” she said wistfully.

“Match for what?” Ophelia asked puzzled.

Lyra let out a shrill laugh, “for you, when you’re of age, of course.”

Ariel tensed next to her and choked slightly on her drink; Ophelia tried to pat her on the back, but Ariel pushed her hand away fiercely.

In a split second, and for no apparent reason, Ariel had returned to her usual bitter and nasty persona. Ophelia couldn’t understand what she’d said, the night before she was due to start Hogwarts, she hadn’t wanted to annoy one of the only people she would know there.

“Match me at what? Like a game?” Ophelia asked again.

“Eat your dinner and stop asking questions,” Ariel snapped.

Tears began to burn behind her eyes but determined to cry in front of anyone she tugged harshly on a handful of hair (which had been expertly straightened by Ariel), and the twinge of pain brought her back to reality.

Ophelia prodded some of her vegetables with her fork and furrowed her brow. She didn’t understand why no one ever told her anything, and why she always got in trouble for asking questions.

“Stop doing that with your eyebrows Ophelia, you’ll get wrinkles,” her mother said, her words slightly slurred.

Ophelia huffed loudly.

“That’s quite enough Ophelia,” Claudius said firmly, “you’ve been so well behaved this past month, don’t go spoiling it all now. Apologise to your mother.”

“Sorry mother…” she mumbled in Lyra’s general direction.

“Is that what you call an apology?” Lyra spat furiously, still gripping her goblet tightly she stumbled to her feet and had to grab the back of the chair to steady herself, "I wouldn’t be doing my job as your mother if I didn’t make sure you present yourself well. Who do you think you are to huff and puff at me?” Lyra’s green eyes were bulging, and her pale cheeks flushed; her beautiful features obscured by the deranged expression carved into her face.

Ophelia shrunk back into her chair, “I-I’m sorry,” she blubbered.

“Go to your room,” Lyra slurred.

Ophelia didn’t move.

“I said go to your room!” she screeched.

“B-but I didn’t even get to eat anything…”

Lyra’s face twisted again, and Ophelia saw the resemblance between her and the pictures of Aunt Bella she had seen in the Daily Prophet, screaming in chains from her Azkaban cell.

“I don’t care,” she shrieked, and with one swift move, she had flung the solid gold goblet down the length of the table, spraying red wine as it hurled towards Ophelia. It struck her just below her eye. Ophelia cried out, and her hands flew to her face, cradling her throbbing cheekbone.

No one spoke.

The only sound was Lyra’s ragged breathing, “Poppy!” she shrieked, “get me more wine. This ungrateful brat has wasted mine,” she spat in Ophelia’s direction.

Ophelia was frozen in her seat. She looked hopefully to Leo, then Ariel, then Lynx but they all kept their eyes firmly focused on their plates. She didn't even bother to look at Archer, but if she had, she would've seen the twisted grin plastered on his face.

“Get out of my sight,” Lyra hissed, her cold eyes were narrowed into slits as she stared her down.

Ophelia’s hair tangled around her fingers and she pulled so tightly that several chunks were ripped from her scalp. She stood up slowly, her small frame was wracked with silent sobs, but one eventually broke free, and a strangled cry erupted from her body. And after that she couldn't stop, her wails echoed around the dark dining room.

"I said, get out!"

Ophelia had rarely seen her mother like this. Her smooth dark hair had broken free of its tight bun, and her lips were twisted into a grotesque smile; Bellatrix Lestrange and Lyra Beauregard had never looked so alike.

Ophelia managed to leap out of the way just in time as Lyra’s knife embedded itself in the wooden back of the chair, she had been sitting in just moments ago.

She bolted out of the dining room and scampered through the winding corridors of Beauregard Manor until she reached the grand staircase. Ophelia’s chest heaved with sobs as she dragged her body up the dark oak steps.

Bursting through her bedroom door, Ophelia threw her body down on her plush bed and sobbed into the silky green sheets, her body was trembling, and her head was spinning.

She was so overcome with waves of dizziness and nausea she couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe her tears, and they formed dark patches on her bed as they sunk into the bedspread.

She didn’t stop crying until her exhausted body fell into an uneasy sleep. Ophelia tossed and turned for hours but didn’t wake.

That was until a dark figure crept into her dream.

There was a cold, high laugh, and a brilliant burst of green light.

Ophelia woke with an ear-splitting scream and her dressing table mirror shattered into hundreds of tiny, glimmering shards.


End file.
